standing on a stump.
The river flows
gentle unceasing low roar that becomes
Honking geese whose plaintive calls somehow
I find less annoying than their human
I stand in an amphitheater copse of trees who seem
to have little trouble
being what they are.
Blossoms white, pink, each
a world within themselves
unfolding ancient lore secreted
Standing on a stump
a chorus of shoots young and green rising round
beneath a carpet of dead, discarded leaves
pointing at me
bearing silent witness
causing me to start.
Dead leaves or